Bare Naked, Bone Deep
by belladonnacullen
Summary: Bella has a fetish. Edward has a passion. What happens when fine art meets full frontal? An Ivy League romance with a twist... BxE, AH, rated M
1. Body Shot

Arizona is the land of free refills and boys that fuck like stallions.

I don't precisely know if that statement is true. I suspect it's not.

The thing is, I once promised a boy that if I ever wrote something along the lines of a book, I'd start with that line. I'm a woman of my word; I keep my promises – to myself and to others. I can't say it's always served me well, but it feels right. I also pride myself on nearly always doing what feels right - you know, listening to that feeling deep in your bones that warns you about trouble or that hints that you're onto something really sweet. Anyway, the idea of keeping promises and following my bone-sense is what's at the heart of this story, way more than free refills and Arizona stallions.

xXxXx

"_Man, I haven't had a free refill since Flagstaff," I sighed, skimming over our check and noticing we'd each been charged for two cups of coffee._

"_Another reason to call it quits and come back home with me, Bell."_

_Jake had been insistent like that for about a thousand miles._

"_What? Like Arizona is this magical land of free refills?" I asked with a smirk. I knew lots of Arizona facts; that wasn't one of them._

_Jake straightened his shirt collar and flashed a toothy grin. "Free refills and boys that fuck like stallions."_

_I burst out laughing, inadvertently spraying my best friend with at least seventy-five cents worth of coffee. _

"_What?" he asked, wiping at the coffee on his forehead. "It could be true. It's not like you know, right?"_

_I tried to stop grinning. _

"_You and I both grew up around horses, Jake." I had to work to hold the giggles inside. "I'm pretty sure you mean boys that are _hung_ like stallions, because, um… the alternative? Ouch." I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat letting the giggles take over. _

_Jake's face had gone from pink to red as I spoke and he found something really interesting to focus on outside the diner's grimy window._

"_Arizona: The land of free refills and boys that fuck like stallions," I announced in my best newscaster voice, swinging my coffee mug jauntily in front of me, then taking a long, last swig._

"_Sounds about right to me," he said with a sullen, shy shrug. _

"_Maybe," I offered kindly, letting it drop. Jake had a hard time admitting when he was wrong. _

"_You make sure they know that up in Princeton," he persisted. "So those Ivy Leaguers know their place."_

"_Ha! Should I wear it across my chest?" I laughed. _

_Jake raised his eyebrows. _

"_Like on a shirt, silly. I wasn't going to paint it across my bare boobs." _

_Jake didn't look convinced. I kicked him under the table. He pulled his leg away, wincing, with his focus back out the window again._

"_I was thinking more like a Facebook post or a blog or something," he huffed._

"_Jake, I've got exactly thirty-six friends on Facebook and they're all from Arizona."_

"_Like, I don't know, if you wrote an essay or a story or something," Jake persisted, sounding suddenly needy. He turned and his eyes met mine. He was sad. He was losing me. How had we gone from joking to such loss so quickly?_

"_Use my line and remember me, okay?" he asked quietly. _

"_An essay about stallions fucking and Arizona boys?" _

_I joke when I'm nervous. Sometimes I don't like that personality trait. I'm working on it. Jake didn't like it at that moment in time, either. He clenched his jaw before answering, "It doesn't matter what it's about; just start it with that line. So I know you remember."_

_I laughed again, nervously that time around. Jake looked on expectantly. I consulted my bones. It felt silly, but it felt right._

"_Deal," I acquiesced, figuring there was a fat chance I'd ever write anything._

"_Yeah?" he asked. "The first line?"_

"_The first line. Promise."_

xXxXx_  
><em>

So, here I am. I've got my first line promise out of the way. Like Jake mentioned, I don't know one way or the other how boys from Arizona do it in bed, but let's hope for the sake of Arizona women that it's a little more intimate and a little less jerky than the way horses go at it.

Arizona is hardly even a part of this story, though. I left Arizona the summer after my senior year of high school, three long months ago. I left my dad, Charlie. I left my dog, Alice. I left my best friend, Jake. (You just met him in that flashback). I left my home. I left Paradise Valley Community College before I even began. I left the towering ponderosa pines of the Tonto National Forest. I left those vast open spaces where you can twirl in a circle and search the horizon and not spot another soul.

I miss that.

My family's lived in Arizona since way before it became a state. _(It became the forty-eighth state on February 14__th__, 1912)_. The Swans have inhabited a big, dusty tract of land in the desert pine forest for four generations. My mom moved in with my dad when she was eighteen, and she lived there up until the day she died of lymphoma: April 16th, 2002. My dad will never leave. Neither will mom's bones.

When my big brother Emmett up and out of the blue left for college in the fall of that year, it was like a shock to our idea of living. You could leave? You could just pack up a truck with your belongings and drive somewhere else? People came to Strawberry, Arizona to visit. People from Strawberry, Arizona didn't go anywhere… except Emmett Swan.

I held Emmett in contempt for a long time after that. Even as a kid, I recognized that bone-deep feeling. I knew my big brother was running away from dad's sadness, the sudden loss of my mom and the responsibility of looking after me. I did what any kid would; I reacted. I clung to Dad, to the desert, and to my roots with complete devotion and Southwestern pride. I was the child that would stay true. I'd be good. I'd commit.

I took over some of mom's traditions, like Christmas enchiladas and tres leches for birthdays. I read books about my little piece of the country. I learned to identify the native plants that surrounded the cemetery where mom was buried. I took to painting desert landscapes as a hobby. I dressed the part of an Arizona native: in plaids, denim, boots and some of Mom's turquoise jewelry. I became best friends with Jake.

I'll admit it; I totally introduced myself to Jake because he was Arizona Havapai, but I stayed his friend because he was awesome - until it got all weird… but I'm getting ahead of myself, or behind myself. I'm not really sure. I don't have experience telling stories as much as telling truths. It did get weird, though. That's for certain.

At first, though, it wasn't weird at all. Jake and I would just go off together and do kid kind of stuff. It made sense; we _were_ kids. We'd ride bikes or catch lizards or go fishing in one of the lakes up on the ridge above town. And then there was one of my absolute favorite things about growing up in Strawberry: if Jake and I'd help out cleaning stalls at his place his dad would let us take a couple horses down to Tonto on our own.

It's unbelievable down there at the Tonto Natural Bridge. It's like another world: with pines and desert sands, and all these tall rock formations with water falling everywhere. We'd tie up the horses and play hide and seek for hours. When it was hotter than hot we'd run underneath the water like it was an Arizona version of a lawn sprinkler. We'd lie in the scratchy underbrush and watch faint wisps of clouds float across the never-ending blue sky. They say Montana's the Big Sky Country, but I'm not convinced. Arizona has the biggest, bluest skies ever.

I felt so small there. I felt so good there. Jake was a quiet kid - quiet enough so I could just kind of _be_ there. You know? Wow. I miss Tonto.

That was the spot where things changed for me. I can't explain it, really. I just had this sudden urge, and when I thought about it, like really thought about it, I shook down deep in my bones - from the inside out. I ducked behind a stand of creosote in the dappled shade. That was it. Then I pushed my luck until I pushed myself right out of Strawberry. I hope I can find my way back. I hope I can find a way to be happy there. I hope I can feel as excited there one day as I do right now.

It took a while to get to this place, though. First there were mistakes – lots of mistakes. First there were wrong messages and rumors and fistfights. And by the end there, everything felt wrong.

I opened my eyes one morning, just a week or two before I was set to start junior college and I saw my life all laid out in front of me. I saw with sudden clarity that I'd been drawing up the blueprints for my future without even realizing it. I could see a little stone house on our family's property in the shadow of the ridge, some horses, some kids, and plans for me to take over the family business. I hadn't made room for an alternative. Like my mom and dad and my grandparents before them, I'd live and die in the desert. And it felt… _wrong_.

My bones rattled uncomfortably.

I'd made a life, and the normal thing to do would be to live it. But I'd gone and proved that maybe I wasn't normal. Maybe I didn't fit inside that framework I'd created. Maybe I needed something different - just for the time being. Maybe I needed a break. Maybe Strawberry needed a break from me.

Suddenly I was thinking the impossible. Suddenly, I wanted out – just for a little while, of course. With those crazy thoughts, suddenly I could breathe again. I could move. There were possibilities for my future that I'd never considered.

xXxXx

"_Just for a year or two, Daddy. I promise I'll be back. I really do want to come back."_

"_Like your brother did?" my dad asked, his mouth drawn up in a tight, disapproving line so that it was almost hidden under his mustache._

"_I don't know about Emmett, but I just need… I don't know... space, maybe."_

"_How much more space do you need, Honey?" My dad looked around at the wide-open desert to our west and the wild ridge just above us. _

_All I could see, though, was the small spot on the ground kind of cordoned off by my old red, rusting Dodge and the back of the garage where I'd just found my dad chopping an old ash for kindling. That spot… I was so stupid. _

_Jake had ended up punching Paul right in the face on that spot, and suddenly there'd been blood everywhere – even across my belly. And then Sam had gone and played tug of war with my shirt. _

_I sank onto the stack of concrete blocks next to my dad and me. The bricks were speckled brown, probably with some of Sam's blood. _

_Sometimes you can't take breathing for granted. Sometimes it seems so hard to get your lungs to work._

"_Baby?" my dad asked, stooping down, concerned._

"_I just need a little time away, Daddy. It's what kids do when they're eighteen. Right?"_

_Deep breaths. _

_Air in. _

_Air out._

_I'd sat right on that spot when Jake had taken off his T-shirt – so I could wipe the blood, so I could cover. The look in his eyes that afternoon had been frightening. _

"_Sometimes you take things too fucking far," he'd growled before he'd stomped away. His broad bronze back seemed to glow in the orange rays of the setting sun. He'd been right._

"_What about school?" my dad asked, bringing my mind back to the present._

"_I think college can wait until I want it more. I'll get a job instead."_

"_What kind of job?" my dad demanded, his voice suddenly sharp and strong._

_My head snapped to attention. Dad's gray eyes were bright with concern and his jaw was hard set. He knew. _

_The space between my father and me was suddenly charged in a very uncomfortable way. We'd never speak a word of it – but I knew - that he knew._

_Air in. _

_Air out. _

_I needed to get out of Strawberry more than ever._

"_Emmett said he'd help me find work. He said he has some connections," I explained very quietly._

"_Emmett's a football coach, Bella. How's that supposed to help?"_

"_I don't know, Daddy, but if I never try -"_

"_Like if you never try college, or if you never try sticking it out here, or if you never-"_

"_I'm coming back! This is my home. I just need a time out, or a reset button, or a… or a - I don't know."_

_I felt the sting of unshed tears pushing at the back of my eyes. I knew it looked like I was running away like Emmett had. Part of me wasn't entirely convinced that I wasn't acting just like my brother. It's not like I hadn't been up every night for a week trying to figure it all out. The idea of leaving seemed so right, but if that same deep down feeling in my bones led me to do something as stupid as… what I'd done, well, who was to say I was making the right decision by leaving?_

_Can you ignore it when your bones sing? Probably. Me, though - not so much._

_Every time I thought about leaving I buzzed all over, but whenever I thought about staying I felt like there was no oxygen to be found for miles. _

_My dad rested on his haunches next to me. His brown boots were old and worn at the toes. _

"_It just makes me sad, Honey. I'm sad to see my baby go, and without a real plan, and half a world away. I'm sad your brother might keep you up there. New Jersey? Really?"_

_I shrugged. It's not like I had anywhere else pressing to get to._

"_You know I love you, Daddy, right?"_

_My dad's smile was big and warm like it always was when I talked about loving him._

"_Don't give up on school, okay?" he asked._

_I nodded. The tears had pushed their way past my eyeballs and were trickling from the corners of my eyes._

"_And don't give up on your home. You always have a place here. It's our place in the world. New fucking Jersey is no substitute, excuse my French."_

"_Not even close," I agreed. "Not even close." _

_It wasn't even close to Strawberry, Arizona, and I was glad of it._

xXxXx_  
><em>

That's the long and the short of it. Okay, that's really just the short of it. There are details I'm not comfortable writing down, just yet. I'll fill you in; I promise. There's also stuff in the middle about how I actually ended up in a dressing room in Princeton, New Jersey, buzzing with excitement.

There's a reason, I'm sure of it. That's why I'm writing. In all of this I'm sure that there's a kind of map. There's a way to go from feeling like a freak to finding a way to be myself.

Bella Swan – artist.

Bella Swan – model.

Bella Swan – just needs a few extra dollars.

Bella Swan – fulfilled.

Last Wednesday was my first time. It was kind of the best day of my life. And it turns out that I was good!

"_We'd really like to have you back, Ms. Swan."_

That's what the lady from the fine arts department said over the phone.

"_There's an anatomical drawing class next week on Thursday and we need -"_

"_I'll do it!"_

I'd had to call in sick to work. Rosalie wasn't pleased and Emmett did not enjoy covering for me. To make matters worse, there was no way in the world I was going to tell him what I was doing this afternoon instead of my job. Leave it to Emmett; he figured I was doing a boy.

It's hard to figure out why that was better than the truth, but in my world, it was.

I have a feeling that this afternoon might be better than anything I could do with a boy, although I mentioned above how I can't really comment one way or another about…_ that_. I really can't imagine that it compares to… _this, _though.

Today I'm even more excited than the first time, something I never would have thought possible. Today I'm not as nervous but my palms are still sweaty. Today I pause from writing in my journal to enjoy the soft terrycloth rubbing against my nipples as I take a deep, cleansing breath. Today I set the little notebook down by my side, and I pull the tie on my robe tighter. It hugs at the waist. I take another deep, steadying breath. I take note of the confident voice of the professor. Today there's a lecture first.

"_Remember that today we're focusing on the rectus abdominus. Carefully consider the manner in which it is shaped and stretched by the movement of the ribcage and diaphragm_," the professor lectures.

My hands follow her words: ribcage, diaphragm. I don't know the rectus abdominus, but I'm thinking it has to do with the abdomen. I've read that you're not supposed to suck in your stomach for this kind of thing, but I'm tempted anyway since it's obvious that today all eyes will be on my midsection. I press my thighs together. My bones ache. I feel giddy. This is what I guess it feels like to be high.

"… _with consideration of the pulse points at the inguinal folds."_

"_But how do we capture motion on the paper_?" a chipper female voice asks.

"_Excellent question… to be answered only with practice_." The professor sounds pleased with her ambiguous answer.

"_You've only spoken of the movement of the anterior portion of the body."_ A deep voice, soft and insistent, winds its way through the air and invades the small space I'm standing in.

"_As a study of the rectus_ -" The professor begins, but she's interrupted.

"_The ribs and diaphragm are just a small piece of an intricate framework – a delicate yet durable balance. The pelvis forms the other anchor for the rectus. There's a push and pull that never ends – a fluidity that reaches all the way to the pelvic floor, and up the back to the gluteals, and then along the erector spinae beyond_."

My mouth is hanging wide. My fingers are stilled over my chest. My breath comes in shallow bursts. I have no idea what the deep male voice is talking about, but it's no wonder, because it's turned my whole body, my brain included, to mush. Electrified mush. Lightening-struck mush. Quaking mush.

I glance down and find my hands pressed flat against the dressing room door like they're moving towards the voice. I see the rapid rise and fall of my chest. My chest!

"… _just a short break and then we'll get started_," the professor finishes, sounding more than a little flustered.

Chairs scrape against linoleum. Footsteps clomp away. My heart tries to leap out of my chest. My chest. My nearly naked chest.

That voice.

I sit dumbly on the little stool. I eye my neatly folded clothing. I touch a toe to the hard wood underneath my feet and it's cold. I'd meant to bring flip-flops. Somehow, I've lost my baring. I look to my journal for support. I consider re-reading the pages as a reminder about how confident I'm supposed to be in this moment.

The knock on the door of the dressing room startles me.

"Bella?" the professor asks. Her voice sounds uncertain.

I stand to my feet, at a loss. I feel wired like you feel after too much coffee and not enough food, or too much fun and not enough sleep – or both, at once. I try to pull myself together, unwilling to let a voice, of all things, throw me off my game – not after I've just figured everything out.

I unlock the door and push it open

The professor's gray-blue eyes radiate relief.

"I was writing," I say by way of excuse.

She smiles kindly. A wisp of dark blonde hair falls out of her messy bun. We walk through a sort of oversized supply closet lined with gray metal shelving and lockers and make our way to a studio. Winter light filters through high windows. Artificial lights shine on the raised dais in the center.

"This is a little different than most sessions," she informs me. "We're studying the -"

"Abdomen," I say in an effort to show that I'm not dense.

She seems pleased. My confidence begins to return. If she likes me she'll ask me back.

"Yes, exactly – the abdomen. So we're looking for frontal and side views; poses that emphasize the contracture and release of your core… poses that highlight how this musculature lies in the body."

I hear an echo of what that voice had been trying to explain to the class in the professor's words. She runs a hand up and down along her torso like she's demonstrating for me, but the movement is verging on languid. Her nails are bitten and polished deep, blood red. Her eyes are distant. I think I know what's on both of our minds. I test my theory.

"What about the… erector, um, _spiny_?" I ask, uncertain if I've pronounced it right.

Her fingers still between her breasts. "Oh? Edward?" Her cheeks go pink. "Ignore his opinions. It's what I do."

She's lying. She doesn't ignore the owner of that voice. And the owner's name is Edward.

"He's not even in the art program," she continues. "He's auditing… comes and goes as he pleases. When he's here he's hardly worth listening to."

"Speak for yourself, Professor Denali," a pretty blonde giggles as she bounces into the room pulling along a b-… no, pulling along a man. He's a young man with yellow-green eyes that beam like he's got rays of Arizona sunshine coming straight through them, and a strong, unshaven jaw, and messy rust-brown hair. "_I _don't mind when Edward comes to class," she continues, smiling into the man's face.

The man's attention is elsewhere, though. He is concentrating on where the two of them are connected. I follow his gaze to their joined hands, feeling a strange sense of disappointment that I push aside. The man has large hands that totally swallow up the girl's. They're neat and strong hands, clean and sure. He has nice hands. I like his hands. I don't remember liking anyone's hands before.

After a moment those hands struggle to break free of the girl's grasp and it's like a spell is broken. Everyone in the room shifts uneasily like we've all just realized that everyone in the studio had been staring at hands. Weird.

"Excuse me, Edward," the professor says with a pinking face, and my suspicions about her are confirmed. I hold my breath, hoping to hear Edward accept her apology.

Instead, he retreats behind an easel and takes a seat, very distracted by pencils and his hands. Maybe he likes his hands as much as I do.

The professor turns her attention abruptly back to me. More hair has fallen from her bun.

"So, how about if we start with ten warm up gestures before moving on to short poses, okay?" the professor asks me briskly, a little too brightly.

The man's eyes fall on me. Edward. Inexplicably, I want to run away almost as much as I've wanted to drop my robe. If I'm not careful I could wind up running naked through the streets of Princeton, New Jersey.

"Bella?" the professor prompts.

More students are filtering into the studio and taking their seats. I notice the blonde situating herself next to Edward. I'm not convinced he's noticed her. His eyes sweep over my body. I shudder.

The professor clears her throat and I force myself to focus.

"Of course," I say with a smile, stepping onto the dais with purpose.

I pull my iPhone out of my robe's pocket and set it on the floor. Chatter settles to a quiet hum. For some reason, I've fooled myself into thinking that I can feel the heat of Edward's gaze burning holes through my robe. Another shudder works its way through me, from the inside out.

I hear his voice. I see his eyes. My bones sing. My middle aches. I'm vibrating like a tuning fork. It makes no sense. I search him out. He's watching. I drop my robe.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I owe my fanfic publishing sanity to SereneInNC and KikiTheDreamer. Thanks for your help, guys! **

**My goal is for BNBD to be less than half as angsty as TiaL. We'll see if my own angst ridden bones can comply. No promises about posting schedules. We'll just see how it goes for the first couple chapters, okay?**

**I have no blog. I have a group on facebook though & a Twitter account where I post teasers & stuff. Find me there:**

**facebook: http : / / www . facebook . com / groups / 233435886670472 /  
><strong>

**Twitter: BellaDCullen  
><strong>

**Oh, and happy new year! May this one be happy & healthy for everyone. ~M  
><strong>


	2. Go See

**SereneIn NC is the world's best beta, in my humble opinion. Writers should all be so lucky to have someone like her in their corner.**

* * *

><p>Two minutes.<p>

I temporarily live in the space of one hundred and twenty seconds.

I try to keep the excitement off of my face and hold it all inside. I stand still, poised, muscles straining just slightly. I feel totally alive.

I silently thank my mother for starting me in ballet when I was six. As a result, I can hold my arms steadily in place and I can move with a grace that only surfaces when I'm on a stage, in front of a crowd.

_Thanks, mom._

In my mind I see a flash of her with this big, bright smile on her face. I know it's an old memory from way back in the day because it's diffused with this bright haze like she's a sun catcher, and also, there's no pain in her eyes. The image is gone in a second and I don't really like the memories that pop up in its place: mom skinny and sick, struggling to walk.

I was seven when my dad quietly explained it was my mom's time to go, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like if she'd had a different time - if she were still here. I wonder if dad would have held on so tightly to everything. I wonder if he'd look sad when I caught him alone in the mornings. I wonder if Emmett would be here in New Jersey, and if so, if I'd be here with him at this moment in time.

I wonder what I'd be like – if she were here. I wonder if she'd like me.

I wonder what mom would think of her daughter standing naked in front of thirty strangers. I wonder what she'd think about her daughter enjoying it. I wonder if I still would. I wonder if I'd tell her.

I don't remember my mom so much, but I miss her anyway. I wonder how that works. And now, so far from home, I kind of miss her more. It's like I couldn't bring her with me, and now I'm really on my own… with Emmett – a brother and a stranger wrapped in one.

Someone coughs and I flinch, almost like the sound had reached out and poked me right in my middle. My hip shifts a little to the left and my right foot slips forward. This isn't good. I have to concentrate. I can't spook with every sound like a skittish horse. If I can't stand in one spot for a couple minutes, there's no way I'll be able to hold a pose for twenty. I want to hold a pose for twenty. I want this _so_ badly. This is just… perfection.

There's another cough – deep and warm, and an electric current surges over the surface of my skin. I manage to hold it together, but just barely. _He_'s coughing. Edward's coughing! It's ridiculous that the man's cough should make my body want to jump and wriggle, but it does. I try to make sense of it, but I'm a little at a loss. The best I can figure out is that it's not the cough itself, but the guy that comes with the cough.

Edward.

He's the owner of that voice: the voice that very calmly and very deeply speaks about parts of my body I didn't even know existed; and he's the owner of those hands.

Edward: hand man… and voice man, and eye man, and jaw man, and chest man. What a man. Oh, no! Now I'm singing Salt 'n Peppa in my head and getting the chills at the same time as I try not to move a muscle. I'm all over the place. I have to pull it together.

I try to focus. I focus on things I know for sure, things that never make me shiver; things like Arizona facts.

State flower: saguaro cactus blossom.

State fossil: petrified wood.

State tree: Palo verde.

State neckwear: bola tie.

State –

Goddamn it! He coughed again. That man can cough to a tune that makes my hip bones hum and Arizona completely fade from my mind.

Thankfully, the soft sounds of a marimba chime from my phone. One hundred and twenty seconds are over. I take a deep breath and move to a new, easier pose. The room is warm, but even so I feel the air stir over my nipples and between my legs as my body shifts. I hold in a sigh and steel myself. I know what I'm about to do is wrong – it goes against everything I've read about nude modeling on , but I can't help it. I search him out as my body sings. I'm shameless.

I guess that's a given, though. I _am_ standing stark naked in front of a bunch of strangers.

My shameless eyes dart. My shameless nipples ache.

He's watching me. I mean, of course he's watching me. He's drawing me. But I get the feeling that he's seen right through to what's going on inside my head, and I'm not talking Arizona state facts. He makes me think that those thoughts about my family weren't hidden as carefully behind my eyes as I thought they were.

In a flash it all hits me again: loss and loneliness, and the pain of memories that only fade, but never grow brighter. My eyes burn with sadness. Pinpricks sting my irises.

Another blink and it's over. The man ducks his head behind his easel and drawing pad. All I'm left with is the top of his messy head of hair, a deflated chest… and those empty windows above his head that I'm supposed to be focusing on.

And his cough. He covers his mouth with his large, fine hand as another rumbling bark rips free from his chest. I have cough drops in my purse. He could use a cough drop. What a worthless thought. I can't call a time out for cough drops. What if I could, though?

xXxXx

"_Time out!" I'd call, and hop down from the dais._

_I'd rush into the dressing room and the class would murmur, confused. I wouldn't fumble or trip as I made a dash for my purse, like I might in real life._

_On the way back to the class, though, I'd saunter a little instead of running. At least, I think that's what I'd be doing. I'll have to look up saunter just to be sure._

"_I have something you need." My voice sounds deeper and raspier in my daydream._

_I place the cough drop in his large, neat hands. They're smooth and strong. His fingers gently clasp mine._

"_Thank you," he murmurs with that voice that could incapacitate the masses – or just incapacitate me. He gives me another one of those x-ray looks, seeing inside my head, into my soul._

"_How do you see what I'm hiding?" I ask. "And you should see someone about that cough."_

_His eyes… they're kind. He's grateful. He's not at all like… other people might be if a naked girl was standing in front of them with a cough drop. He's cool and warm all at the same time, like sunshine in the desert on a winter morning, and –_

"Bella?" the professor prompts.

I startle. I glance in her direction.

"Next pose, dear," she smiles.

I've missed the cue from my phone. _He_ glances up from his pad and, (who am I kidding?) I almost don't care that I've messed up… because he sees me. Like, he sees all of me, through and through – cough drop fantasy and all. I blush and move to a new pose.

The rest of the session passes in a swirl of vibration and palpitations. I feel every inch of my body coming into contact with nothing but air and yellow-green eyesight. Every less than an inch of my body. Every mini-inch. Every… centimeter? Not sure. Don't care.

I catch his eyes sometimes when I'm changing poses. He ducks, but the movements of his hands are so sure. I feel like I could watch him and his handstrokes all day. I like that idea: both of us standing across a studio from one another - each watching. The only problem is that I might faint.

Or maybe I could just watch his handstrokes. Is handstroke a word? Not sure. Don't care. Either way, I could gladly watch them forever.

xXxXx

It had to end. With a cheery marimba chime, a warm smile from the professor, and the flurry of students grabbing supplies and backpacks, my time is up.

My robe is on.

That blonde girl is hanging on him again. She's trying to get her hands on his work. I linger just long enough to catch a glimpse of… _me_ sketched in graphite. I'm quite certain Edward wasn't studying my mid-section. I have to try really hard to keep my mouth shut.

Then he's gone without another well-informed word about intimate anatomy, without another cough, without a stray glance in my direction. Without one of my cough drops.

I'm left in a dressing room, staring at my journal, wondering how in the hell this fits into my story. Wondering if I can remember how to translate what he said before I ever saw him, wondering if I can put into words what he made me feel. All I know is that this isn't exactly part of the plan. I thought I knew everything I needed to know about myself. I thought I'd figured it all out. But I had no idea what a boy's voice and hands and his knowing glance could do to me.

And it's over.

I walk outside into cold sunshine, squinting through crowds of kids. It's hopeless that I'll catch sight of him in this crowd. And what if I did? I plunge my hand into my purse feeling for my cough drops.

xXxXx

"_Cough drop?" I'd ask._

_In daydream number two his hands are still smooth and hard, his smile is still grateful._

"_I know you," he'd say. He could mean my body, but I have a sneaking suspicion that he'd mean so much more._

"_You saw me earlier," I'd reply, shifting my hips and striking a pose._

"_Of course. Anatomical drawing. I was appreciating the gentle rocking of your pelvic floor."_

"_I was appreciating your hands."_

"_I was appreciating your gluteus maximus."_

The boy I walk straight into doesn't appreciate me at all.

He huffs and rolls his eyes and walks past quickly while his buddies laugh. I make a sincere effort to push past him _and_ push Edward out of my mind so I can concentrate on what's in front of me long enough to at least get myself home. It's not easy. I'm all fluttery inside and my mind wants to fly back to the studio, not to mention that I'm not used to the flat, crowded landscape of Central Jersey at all. I still feel penned in by the crowd of trees, crowded campus quads, crowded sidewalks, and cars full of kids crowding every road.

It feels like there must be a million kids in this town, which is about nine hundred, ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and fifty more than I'm used to. If I don't concentrate I'll be lost down some nameless side street dreaming about anatomical modeling… and anatomical drawing… and that electric feeling that filled the studio less than an hour ago, while dry brown leaves, as crackly as snakeskin, fall from the squat little trees and accumulate over my quaking body.

Against all odds I make it back, though. Emmett's rented place is small and square and pale yellow. It's not much to look at, but I'm not one to judge a person by their home. I have other things to judge my brother by – like his absence for more than half of my life, but even that's not as straightforward as I once thought.

When I first found his home back in September, it sat on the high grassy yard in dappled shade. These days the trees are close to bare and the lawn is gray, the small, single pane windows are fogged over and the bricks look cold and half-frozen.

Home.

I shiver.

It's not exactly what I imagined when Emmett told me I should come. He kind of left some… _stuff _out.

xXxXx

With each mile Jake was more and more morose. I started skipping bathroom breaks somewhere around Chicago, and I offered to drive instead of pulling over for the night once we hit western Pennsylvania. The slow-motion separation anxiety that was filling the cab of his pickup was killing me. I knew my Dodge was in no condition to make the trip, but the puppy dog eyes and sigh filled silences made hitchhiking look like a cakewalk, (not that I have any real idea what a cakewalk is). We made it from Pittsburg to Princeton in just under five hours. In case you're not sure, that's decent time.

Once we pulled up to Emmett's place, I practically jumped out of the truck, but Jake grabbed my wrist and held me back.

"You sure about this?" he asked.

"Um, we just drove like three thousand miles. I'm pretty damn sure, Jake."

"You don't have to go."

"You know I do."

He knew better than anyone.

"But, what about -"

"Jake, chill out, okay?" I huffed, shaking free of his hold. "You'll always be my friend. A few thousand miles won't change that. But I've got to do this."

"What about Arizona?" he asked. Suddenly Arizona was code for Jacob Black.

"Land of free refills?"

"And?"

"The rest remains to be seen."

That made Jake happier, and it was probably a little unfair. I guess I left the impression that the door was open for him to try to fuck me like a stallion at some point in the future. It also helped me to get out of the car. Go ahead; judge me. I was about a hundred feet from my goal and a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

I jumped from the truck and ran up the walk. It was the middle of the afternoon, but I noticed that the shades were drawn tight. Weird. Maybe Emmett was a vampire. Maybe that's why he never made it back to Arizona.

I knocked. I waited. Jake joined me on the tiny porch.

"Maybe he's not home?" Jake wondered out loud.

I pulled out my phone and dialed and it rang in stereo. Something crashed inside the house.

"He's here!" I squealed and knocked more frantically at the door. It had been way too long since I'd seen my big brother.

Something else fell inside, and someone swore, and, well, it totally wasn't Emmett – not unless he'd gone and gotten himself a sex change. Maybe that's why he never made it back to Arizona.

When he finally came to the door, though, Emmett wasn't a vampire or a girl – he was kind of the opposite of both. My older brother was a topless mass of glistening, suntanned muscle, wearing just a pair of boxer briefs and a big smile.

In just half a second I was caught in his vice-like, kind of slippery embrace. My brother smelled like vanilla and aftershave. He wore Calvins and had a hairless back. It was too much information too fast.

"Em?" I gasped.

"Jelly Belly!" he boomed, swinging me around like I was still two years old.

"Jelly Belly?" Jake chuckled while I spun.

"Goddamn, Jelly Belly, it's so fucking good to see you," Emmett gushed, holding me tight enough that I started to worry for my life. Just as I was about to start kicking out my legs, my feet were allowed back on solid ground, but my head kept spinning for a while longer.

Emmett held my face in his hands like he was trying to help me out with that.

"Good god, Jelly, you're all grown up. You're tall. And no belly."

He poked my middle to prove his point.

Jake eyed my midsection. "No, no belly at all," he agreed. I kicked his shin.

Em turned his attention to my friend and held out his hand, like greeting people in your underwear was the most normal thing in the world. "You must be Jelly Belly's boyfriend."

Jake looked pleased.

"Um," I hedged, raising my eyebrows.

"Just friends," Jake quickly amended.

"Whatever. It's cool, man. I mean, I would've had to beat you up for sleeping with my little sister all across the country, right?"

Emmett's offered hand suddenly turned into a raised a fist. Jake flinched.

"Emmett!" I yelled.

"Just kidding, Jelly. Get inside. You've gotta meet Rose."

"Rose?" I asked.

"Hey, Rosie!" Emmett called from the doorway as he ushered Jake and me inside.

Luckily for Rose, she'd found the shirt that Emmett forgot to put on. Unfortunately for Rose, all of her own clothing was tossed around the room, and she was working to untangle her panties from around her ankles. To Jake's credit, he looked at his feet.

"My sister's a little early, I guess," Emmett needlessly explained.

Rose concentrated on her underwear. I concentrated on the messy little apartment I was going to be sharing with my very large brother. And then I saw the lacy tablecloth… and the pink curtains… and the picture of Rose, (fully clothed) and at the center of a large family.

"She lives here?" I asked.

"Jelly, this is my girl, Rosie."

I wasn't sure where to look. I mean, with a quick glance I could tell that Rose had nipples the color of the cliffs out in the painted desert, and that she had long thin legs, and, well, that she was a natural blonde.

"Hey," I waved, kind of staring at her ear. I figured her ear was safe. Jake looked right out the window instead of chancing it at all.

Rose smiled stiffly, swept through the room to collect her clothing and then closed herself in the bathroom without a word.

"Rose?" I asked my brother.

"What? Did dad tell you I was a monk?" he asked, eyes twinkling. He grabbed a couple Gatorades from the fridge and tossed one to me, and another to Jake, but my friend didn't have the reflexes for that maneuver, and the plastic bottle bounced off Jake's elbow and landed at his feet.

"I'm not really a monk, Jelly," Emmett chuckled. "That was a joke."

"The name's Bella, Em," I corrected.

"Jella?" he asked with a wink.

"It's Bella, and you could have told me I'd be living with two people, you know."

Emmett sprawled out in a chair across the table from me and took a long swig from his blue sports drink. "JeBella?" he tried again.

"Good one," Jake laughed.

If looks could kill, I would have blasted my friend to bits.

"Listen, BeJelly, I wanted to get to know my little sis, and I had a sneaking suspicion you might think twice about coming if I sprung Rose on you."

"It's Bella, Em. Just Bella, okay?"

I'd had these ideas about Em and I taking care of one another: trading off on cooking, making cleaning charts, going food shopping together, watching Saturday morning cartoons and eating Cocoa Puffs like we used to. I hadn't expected… Rose.

"You look just like her, you know?" Emmett asked, leaning closer.

"What?" I asked.

One look at his dusky green eyes, though and I knew Emmett wasn't talking about Rose. He was searching out little pieces of mom in my face.

I looked at my lap.

"It's been so long, Little Sis. I'm really glad you're here."

xXxXx

Here. Here's a small, square rented house. Here's got an eat-in kitchen, one bedroom and one bath. Here's where I sit: my little corner of the living room. The couch is halfway comfy and I've hung a few of my landscapes on the wall. I've got some space in the closet, a shelf in the medicine cabinet and pretty much the whole bookshelf.

Rose fights the tide and keeps the place pretty tidy. She's constantly picking Em's dirty socks off the floor and corralling his track shoes into a spot in the corner of the kitchen. I try to help, but I don't know if she really likes me touching their stuff. I don't know if she likes me much at all, but I guess I can't blame her. I get the feeling Em didn't really say too much about me coming to stay here.

Don't judge Em too harshly, okay? I haven't really got him figured out yet, but there's something underneath all the muscle and tanned skin, and I'm not just talking bone. There's something dark that goes deeper. Rose deals with me because of it. Em stays away from dad because of it. And sometimes when we sit down to watch Saturday morning cartoons on Hulu with Cocoa Pebbles (I totally got to live out that fantasy because Rose works every Saturday morning), he gets quiet and his eyes look sad and I think he's going to talk about the shadows he keeps hidden. Those are the times I'm the most tempted to talk about my own, too. It only lasts for an instant, though. Instead, he'll end up calling me JebaBelly and telling me to wash his Jeep and earn my keep.

I rest my journal on my lap.

I might have gone back if it wasn't for Angela and art class and that flyer I saw hanging on the wall in the hallway.

I might have missed… today.

There's only one full-length mirror in the house, and it's in the room Emmett and Rose share. I dash into the bedroom, as my breaths come quicker and my heart begins to pound.

Today.

I untie my wrap dress and let it fall to the ground

I watch goose bumps rise on my flesh. I tingle all over.

He saw.

He was there.

He _coughed_.

I stop trying to figure out why it matters and I just let the feeling wash over me.

I watch myself unhooking my bra. I watch my nipples rise.

His hands.

My own hands move. Thumbs graze nipples. Fingertips trace my… rectus and down, down to what he was drawing.

His bright sunshine eyes. His deep voice. His hands.

My hand. My chest rises and falls. He saw me at one of the best moments of my –

"Oh, for the love of god, Isabella!"

_Rose._

* * *

><p><strong>AN/Disclaimer: I've never been a nude model. I've never taken classes in Princeton's Fine Arts Program. I've never eaten Cocoa Pebbles. **

**Thank you for all of the love & support you've given my first chapter. Very much appreciated.  
><strong>

**I'm still trying to figure out how to write and keep up with new job, but my regular readers know that I'm not the kind of lady to leave you all in the lurch. Hang in there & I'll find a way to make it work. **

**xxx, ~M**_  
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